


Tron's Misadventures

by Sed



Series: Everything Turned Out Okay [2]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A taste of the trouble Tron has caused on the Grid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tron's Misadventures

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same AU as [Sparring Match](http://archiveofourown.org/works/435198). It describes some of the past events mentioned in that fic.

“What’s wrong?”  
  
Shaddox gestured to the other side of the club, where an obviously overcharged Tron was halfway up the side of the wall, one leg dangling perilously with no hope of finding a foothold.  
  
“That’s why you called me here?” Clu asked. “Pull him down and have someone take him home.”  
  
“You don’t think I tried that? He kicked me.” Shaddox turned and pointed at his arm. It was covered, and showed no signs of damage, but Clu didn’t doubt that he was telling the truth. Tron could get… aggressive, especially when he was drinking and surrounded by other programs. Clu wasn’t clear on the cause of his inability to process energy at the same rate as other programs, and Flynn had merely waved it off as _old system incompatibility_.  
  
He sighed and nodded. “I’ll go talk to him.”  
  
“No,” Shaddox said. “I don’t think you understand—he’s not going to listen. Just call in some sentries.”  
  
“Adding sentries to the mix isn’t necessary, and it’ll disrupt things more than _he_ already has.” He pointed to Tron, who was on his stomach by that point, hanging over the top of a large, wide light fixture.  
  
Too late, Clu realized that Tron had spotted him. “Hey, hey, Clu!” he called out, waving so much that he nearly lost his balance.  
  
Clu flinched and turned back to Shaddox. “Wait here.”  
  
“Clu listen—Clu come here and listen.” Tron slowly slid back down until he could drop to the floor on his feet. “I have an idea, and we’re going to need sirens. Lots of sirens.” He kept waving his hands like he was trying to get everyone to be quiet, but aside from the music the club was almost completely silent already.  
  
“I’m taking you home, Tron,” Clu said. He gripped Tron’s upper arm and tried to pull him, but Tron braced himself and leaned away.  
  
“No, I’m not done here.” He paused and peered at Clu, leaning just close enough to make the admin uncomfortable. “You look so much like Flynn.”  
  
“Is that so,” Clu muttered. “Come on.”  
  
“Clu.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Clu.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“I have an idea.”  
  
Clu tried to avoid meeting the eyes of the programs around them; most were staring, and some were muttering to each other and giggling quietly. If it had been the first time he was called regarding Tron’s overindulgence he might not have cared, but the fact was that Tron seemed to regularly forget his monumentally important responsibility to the Grid and its inhabitants. Clu didn’t get involved personally as a rule, or at least he tried not to. There wasn’t much he could do about everyone going to _him_ whenever they needed help reining Tron in after a night on the town.  
  
He let go and turned to the other program. “Does it involve lots of sirens?”  
  
Tron laughed and slapped both hands down on Clu’s shoulders, shaking him back and forth a few times. “I like how you think. That’s a great idea, let’s go find some!”  
  
“No, that’s—”  
  
“Clu wants to find some sirens, guys. Guys?” Tron turned around in a dizzy circle before selecting a group of programs in the corner, seemingly at random. “There you are. Do you know any sirens? Clu is looking for some.”  
  
“I am not!”  
  
But Tron wasn’t listening. He had already forgotten about Clu, and moved on to harassing the group of programs who were mostly trying to avoid becoming furniture for him to climb on or lean against. One failed, and ended up supporting him while he told them about the first time Clu tried to ride a light cycle.  
  
“That is not public information, Tron!” Clu shouted. He tried to break into Tron’s one-sided conversation, but it was impossible to make him stop talking.  
  
“…and he said, ‘I didn’t know the wheel couldn’t turn.’” Tron was the only one who laughed. Clu assumed it had more to do with the discomfort of the other programs than the quality of the anecdote.  
  
Shaddox joined him a moment later, though he was careful to stay out of arm’s reach when Tron turned to him.  
  
“Hey Shaddox, when did you get here?” Tron asked. He was grinning like a fool.  
  
Shaddox didn’t reply to Tron. “This is going well,” he said to Clu. “Care to call those sentries now?”  
  
“I can handle this.”  
  
“Right, you’re doing well so far.”  
  
“Listen you guys, no,” Tron held up his hands to stop Clu and Shaddox when they tried to interrupt. “Shut up and _listen_. Okay?” He looked back and forth between them. Neither attempted to speak a second time, but he waited another few micros before continuing. “I need to tell you something.” He slapped a hand down on Shaddox’s shoulder, making him wince under the impact. “I really, _really_ think your hair would look better on me. Let’s trade files.”  
  
Clu didn’t need to look at Shaddox to know that the utility program was staring at him. “Alright, I’ll call in the sentries.”  
  
  
_____________  
  
  
  
The force of the explosion nearly threw Clu backwards into the stands. He stood up from his defensive crouch and brushed bits of broken data from his sleeves. As Tron came around for another turn he tried to wave him down, jumping a few times to make himself more obvious, despite the danger it clearly presented.  
  
It didn’t do any good, and the tank continued on its way, rolling across the new light cycle grid and leaving fractures along the tiles in its wake. The gaming grids were never meant to sustain the weight of such an enormous vehicle—and certainly not four of them. Tron had forced a handful of Clu’s sentries to follow him onto the grid for what he claimed were ‘training exercises’, then proceeded to start shooting at them without warning. Brave as they were, the sentries had nevertheless abandoned their vehicles and run for the exits the moment Tron found something else to shoot at.  
  
That something happened to be Clu.  
  
“Stop shooting at me, you bit-brained lunatic!” He was still hoping it was an accident, but that was becoming less and less likely each time Tron aimed the canon his way.  
  
Clu knew Tron wasn’t attacking in anger; there hadn’t been any strife between them for nearly half a cycle, which, though unusual and slightly alarming, was actually a relief. Tron had behaved right up to the micro Shaddox walked into the admin tower and announced that the third version of the light cycle grid was finally complete.  
  
Tron was out of his seat and moving so fast that Clu could have sworn he’d left an outline of his data shell behind. Shaddox had then reminded Clu that there wouldn’t be another light cycle grid if Tron destroyed a third one. He had already rebuilt the first after an excessive number of light cycle crashes—in a period of less than a quarter microcycle—and the second after what could only be called an all-out battle took place between Tron and what many described as ‘his own arrogance’.  
  
Still harboring the tiniest and most unrealistic hope that Tron was trying to gain control of a defective machine, Clu watched the cannon on the front of the tank swivel around and then back toward him.  
  
“Don’t do it!”  
  
The cannon stopped.  
  
“Tron!”  
  
He was running before it could fire off the first round. The explosion left an enormous crater of crumbled data where the stands had been, and a glowing web of cracks grew from the point of impact, racing through the structure of the arena. Clu watched in horror as the stands, the walls, even the stairs all shattered into chunks of data and collapsed into the crater. He barely had time to move before the ground beneath his feet gave way. Then a second round was fired, and he took cover behind the wall again.  
  
When the firing ceased he looked up again, finding Tron sitting cross-legged on top of the tank.  
  
“This isn’t good for tanks at all,” Tron observed.  
  
Clu slammed his fists down on the wall, adding to the growing damage around him. “ _That’s because it isn’t built for them!_ ” he shouted.  
  
  
_____________  
  
  
  
“He said it’s the last time, but I’m sure he’ll keep making them as long as Flynn asks.”  
  
Clu flexed his fingers, trying to get used to the new material. He had never worn a grid suit before—only the user-style clothes that mirrored Flynn’s. “That’s not the point, Tron,” he replied, snapping his eyes from the gloves to his comrade. “Shaddox has made _four_ versions of the light cycle grid. Don’t you think it’s asking a lot of him to keep doing it? Couldn’t you just _not_ destroy them?”  
  
“The way I see it—set your feet further apart—the way I see it, I’m helping to improve the quality of the overall structure. Each version is better than the last.” Tron stepped back a bit at Clu’s insistence, mirroring the other program’s stance. Without warning he surged forward and landed a solid punch to Clu’s gut, sending him stumbling backwards.  
  
Clu sputtered and clutched at his stomach. “Warn me next time!” he growled.  
  
“A warrior should always anticipate an attack.”  
  
When Tron reached to offer him a hand Clu slapped it away, instead using the opportunity to swing a quick jab that caught Tron in the side. It would have been a painful blow for a user, but programs were made of stronger stuff; Tron staggered to the side and returned with a vicious spinning kick that ended in Clu lying prone on his stomach, face flat against the tile.  
  
“Stop fighting like a user.”  
  
Clu huffed and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. “Easier said than done.”  
  
“Think fast!” Tron leapt onto Clu’s back, forcing him back down again. He knelt with his hands on Clu’s forearms, pinning him.  
  
“Get off!”  
  
“Isn’t the whole point of this so that you can learn to do it yourself?”  
  
Clu bucked his hips in an effort to dislodge Tron, but it didn’t accomplish much; in fact it only seemed to work against him. Tron slid his knees from Clu’s back, down to the floor, straddling his hips and reinforcing his position. Clu growled out something offensive and tried to jerk his arms out of the iron grip holding them in place, but the results were similarly disappointing.  
  
“I doubt grid bugs will pin me on my stomach, Tron,” Clu said.  
  
He could feel Tron shrug over him. “You might find yourself fighting something other than grid bugs, some day.” He released Clu’s arms and sat up, keeping his hands moving over Clu’s body, even after letting go. “This counts as a loss, just so you know.”  
  
“We’re not keeping score.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
With his arms free Clu was able to push off from the floor, but Tron still sat astride his back, keeping his waist pinned. “Do you mind?” he asked.  
  
“No.”  
  
Clu arched himself as much as their respective positions would allow, trying to knock Tron in any direction that would give him the upper hand. Before he could act, Tron suddenly fell forward, pressing his chest to Clu’s back and gripping his sides tight. Clu could feel a warm puff of breath against the nape of his neck, and something that felt like a light stick against his back. It was—  
  
“Damn it, Tron!” Clu managed a burst of strength that sent the other program rolling off his back, laughing at his own inappropriate behavior. Clu stood up and tried to shake himself of the awkward heat gripping his body. Unbelievable. “I have more important things to do than play sick games with you!”  
  
“But we’re not finished,” Tron complained.  
  
Clu scowled and headed for the exit at a pace that felt brisk even by his standards. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finishing by yourself.”  
  
  
_____________  
  
  
  
“They should have started by now,” Clu muttered. He paced back and forth in front of the wide window overlooking the arena floor. “Where are they?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Flynn said with a chuckle. “So the game’s delayed. No big deal.”  
  
“It is a big deal! If the games are delayed then everything else is delayed; programs don’t return to their duties on time, efficiency suffers, the Grid descends into chaos. I have to deal with all of it.”  
  
“Man, you’re really high strung,” Flynn said.  
  
“I don’t appreciate you saying that,” Clu snapped. “You’re barely ever here, you don’t have to contain these… incidents that are constantly cropping up.”  
  
“I told you, I’ll talk to Tron.”  
  
“ _I’ve_ talked to Tron. He’s worse than a swarm of grid bugs when he decides to indulge his curiosity—or himself.”  
  
Flynn waved a hand to dismiss the subject and instead pointed to the arena boxes spinning out in the center of the floor. “They turned out better than I thought, you know? I really like the look of this. A lot better than an open design we were gonna go with before.”  
  
“Yes, it’s very efficient and visually pleasing. Something is wrong. I’m going down there.” Clu uncrossed his arms and started toward the door. He was stopped by Flynn’s hand on his shoulder.  
  
“It’ll be fine.”  
  
“I know he’s behind this,” Clu said. He jerked his arm away and stormed from the room. Flynn sighed and followed, complaining under his breath about ‘uppity programs’.  
  
Even far below the arena, down in the armory halls, they could still hear the sounds of programs chanting and stomping on the stands above. They were getting impatient, and sending a data management program to entertain them with a handful of stories wasn’t doing the trick, if the growing roar of discontent was any indication.  
  
Clu nearly turned to Flynn and shouted ‘ _I told you so!’_ when they found Tron, stripped mostly bare except for his boots, gloves, and disc port, lying in what appeared to be a bed of armory sirens. Not all of them female, which stirred something curious and perhaps a bit resentful in Clu that he refused to acknowledge and stomped on furiously.  
  
“Uh, wow. Alright, I owe you an apology,” Flynn said to Clu. “What’s going on, Tron?”  
  
“They’re helping me get ready for the match,” Tron said cheerfully. He pulled a small, blonde siren into his lap and slapped her on the ass, making her giggle and writhe atop him. “Want to join?”  
  
“Actually—”  
  
“ _No, we do not_ ,” Clu said, cutting Flynn off before he could make the situation worse.  
  
Tron turned and grabbed a male siren by the chin. They kissed passionately, and Clu narrowed his eyes as Tron watched him through the whole process. Flynn, on the other hand, seemed to have completely forgotten any concept of propriety; he was staring wide-eyed, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he absently pulled at one sleeve.  
  
“Flynn, do not take your jacket off,” Clu warned. “Don’t. Stop it.” Unfortunately his creator, much like Tron, did whatever he wanted. All the time.  
  
“You’re not even in this match,” Clu protested quietly, watching Flynn fall into the welcoming pile of silver and white. He had no idea _where_ the actual combatants were, nor did he know how to get them up to the combat boxes above. After another few minutes of watching the scene before him descend into something downright obscene, Clu turned and marched from the room.  
  
“Tell them some jokes, we’ll be right up!” Flynn called after him.


End file.
